The Apostate Wood (Dragon-Aelves of Ghur)

[Orsino]

The Apostate Wood

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king." - J.R.R Tolkien

-

It was the cruellest winter Melsheus had known in a century. Sitting as close as he could to the dying fire he looked upon the gaunt faces of the depleted and exhausted members of his tribe and wondered how many more would be lost this night.

He told himself that his people were the hardiest of Aelves and would endure. He told himself that they would keep moving, keep scraping by, keep laying the Waystones, and in time through their ceaseless labour they would one day be redeemed. There would be a spring, and plenty, and laughter again. But with each bitter frozen night their band gradually shrunk, each dawn bringing another frozen, emaciated corpse. Last night Prince Armanor had followed where so many of his subjects had already gone, the Great Prince breathing his last weakly. 

Melsheus had forbade anyone from burying Armanor, had insisted that they leave the prince’s body in the undergrowth to be devoured by beasts. Armanor had been wise and just, a true lord of the deepwood who deserved better, but Melsheus could not allow the tribe to waste their strength digging a grave in the frozen dirt when they were upon the brink of starvation. Was this the kind of decision a leader must make? Melsheus had never aspired to be a leader, nothing had ever pleased him as much as the peace of his own company, but there were so few of them left now and with Armanor gone his brothers and sisters looked to him for hope.  

Melsheus looked at the dishevelled shivering figures across from him. The embers were fading to a deep red now, the last of their fuel exhausted. Melsheus unslung his waystalker bow, unfolded its velvet wrapping and examined the weapon. The bow’s ancient yew held old magics. It was not merely that the bow was still supple after centuries or that it loosed volleys of arrows with greater speed and precision than any man-bow. There were secrets in the bow, ancient lost knowledge whispered into the yew, knowledge of the time before. Melsheus snapped the bow over his knee and threw it upon the fire.

The Glade Guards sitting closest to Melsheus cried out and rose to retrieve the broken bow from the fire but Melsheus raised a hand to halt them. He had no hope to give his people, but he could give them a few more minutes of warmth.

The bow caught, burning bright, and in the light Melsheus saw a small figure standing outside of the knot of Wanderers gathered around the fire, a young Aelven child with hair as black as the winter’s void who watched the fire with curiosity.

‘Ho there!’ cried Handmaiden Eostre, following Melsheus’ gaze, ‘A child!’

The bone-chilled Aelves sitting around the fire turned at Eostre’s cry to look at the figure at the edge of the dwindling circle of light. They felt pity for the poor lost girl and called her over to warm herself. She approached without fear and accepted a cloak wrapped about her by one of the Glade Guard. But she would not eat or drink of the meagre rations Eostre offered. Melsheus was too tired and too cold to be curious. It had been some time since they had encountered another tribe of Wanderers but the girl was clearly of their people and it was not unknown for parents to abandon their children in the forest during winters such as these.

After a time staring into the crackling fire the little girl asked:

“Why did you burn your bow?’

‘For warmth child.’ Melsheus answered without turning his gaze from the flame.

The child laughed sweetly and Melsheus winced at the sound. It had been a long time since he had heard the easy laughter of a full belly.

‘But we are in the middle of a forest!’ she cried with mirthful incredulity, ‘why do you not burn the wood of the trees?’ 

The wanderers gathered around the fire shook their heads at this, dismayed at the ignorance of the little girl. How long she must have been separated from her tribe to know so little of her own people. And yet she did not look like a wildling grown feral and alone. The child was hale and hearty, her eyes bright and sparkling, her hair dark and lustrous, and she wore a delicate gown of silk as if she had just wandered away from a summer festival. 

‘The trees belong to Alarielle the Everqueen, blessed peace upon her name,’ explained Eostre patiently, ‘this is her forest and Ghyran her realm, and every branch is sacred to her.’

The child laughed again. ‘Surely she does not need every branch? Why would she not share firewood with you when you are cold and hungry? And if she shan't why not simply leave for some better place?’

‘We suffer,’ Melsheus said slowly, turning his hunter’s gaze upon the child at last, ‘because it is our penance. Our people failed the Everqueen, and for our failure we are denied the fruits of her love. We may not rest or stay, we may not cut one branch from the trees, where we wander the winters are long and bitter and when the barbarians attack us the spirits of the wood no longer come to our aid as once they did. We have suffered often and lost many. This is our punishment, and we bear it with dignity as befits Aelves. Why were you not taught this child? What is your name? Where are your people?’

‘My name is Naestra,’ said the child, ‘and you are my people.’

Turning from the fire, the little girl walked out of the circle of light from the fire into the darkness of the woods. In the moment before she disappeared Melsheus thought he heard a sound beyond the trees, a low rumble like the beating of vast wings.

- 

Relatively new to painting and modelling and welcome all criticism, more to follow soon.

[adreal]

Really awesome background there, cant wait to see more

[Aloth_Corfiser]

Thank you for sharing this cool story. Maybe Melsheus will get  a new Bow in the foreseeable future? ?
Please write more ^^

[Curry_Supreme]

Great writing, really looking forward to the next instalment ?

[Kirjava13]

What a great little story! More soon I hope.

[Orsino]

Thanks for the feedback everyone, it's very encouraging. My apologies for the quality of the pictures.

If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill Him. - Linji Yixuan

And there came a voice to him: “Rise, Peter; kill and eat.” - Acts 10:13

-

Melsheus slept little that night, his empty stomach, his ailing people, and the image of the strange little girl robbed him of all but a few minutes of rest. He rose in the hours before dawn, made his customary count of the night’s dead, and then crept out of the sleeping camp and into the thick frozen forest. Melsheus pushed himself on through the barbed thickets that seemed to fight back against him until he spied Eostre at their arranged meeting place, sitting heavily upon her fearsome white stag Flidal, steam pouring from its nostrils. Eostre looked tired, shaken and gaunt. Her nightly scouting trips and the strain of keeping her reports secret had pushed her beyond exhaustion. Melsheus still remembered when Eostre had been known throughout the continent for her beauty, grace and deadliness. He remembered how each night the camp would ring with the sound of her sweet laughter.

‘What news Handmaiden?’ Melsheus asked as he absent-mindedly raised his hand to pat the steed’s bony flank and then thought better of it, for it was the will of Alarielle that only the Sisters of the Thorn should lay hands upon the sacred steeds and Eostre was a stickler for such things.

Eostre just shook her head in answer to his question.

‘How many? How far?’ Melsheus demanded.

‘Thousands,’ Eostre said meeting his eye at last, ‘they have us cut off Melsheus, the vale is surrounded. At this rate their vanguard will be upon us sometime tomorrow night.”

Now it was Melsheus who could not meet his comrade’s gaze. After everything they had been through they were finished. It was almost a relief.

‘Melsheus...surely now is the time to tell the others, the enemy is nearly upon us.’

‘To what end?’ asked Melsheus bitterly, ‘We are weak, those we have left are half-frozen and half-starved, they can move no faster. Am I to tell them that tomorrow night we will all be torn apart by depraved servants of the blood god? What good will it do to sow panic now?’

‘So you intend for us to be slaughtered in ignorance as the settled folk do to the lamb?’ said Eostre with a hint of the fire that had made her famed and feared.

‘We will be slaughtered regardless. The barbarians that have harried us all winter will deliver the death blow when they come upon us.’

‘What if we disband?’ suggested Eostre, though it hurt her sorely to even consider it, ‘if we go our separate ways, stick to the undergrowth. a few of us might make it past their horde under cover of darkness.’

Melsheus shook his head.

‘Their flesh hounds would be upon our scent and they would hunt us to our very last. If we are to die we may as well die together, as a family.’

They stood in silence amongst the gently falling snow. No desperate embrace or words of comfort passed between them, only the heavy silence of old comrades who know they must soon part. There could be no last-minute deliverance. The tribe would end here.

‘You are right,’ Melsheus conceded at last, ‘there is no point concealing what is upon us now. Let them have one final day of ease and tonight I will address the tribe.’

Eostre nodded and made to ride back to camp. Melsheus saw the fierce light in her eye. Battered, starved, broken-hearted, but not bowed, not yet.

‘I am sorry my sister, you deserved better, we all did.’ He said quietly as he watched her ride away.  

Melsheus picked his way back through the forest towards the camp. It was hard-going, harder than it had ever been before and by the time he made it back to camp Melsheus’ breath came in ragged gasps and the sun was rising above the trees.

Emerging into the clearing Melsheus was shocked to see the camp was already awake and a throng of people had gathered at its centre and were engaged in animated discussion. What fresh disaster could have struck? Could they have discovered for themselves that the hordes of Chaos would soon fall upon them?

‘You there, what’s all this?’ Melsheus demanded, grateful that the men were too distracted to notice him re-entering the camp.

The crowd parted and Melsheus caught sight of a small Aelven child sitting upon the ground. For a moment Melsheus thought the little girl from the night before had returned, but looking again he saw it could not be the same child. This one had white-blond hair as light as the other’s had been dark and the smiling face that poked out from her blood-stained furs was as satisfied and maleficent as a cat with a mouse in its jaws. The girl’s twin then. She sat calmly in the centre of the camp and held in her lap a large round package, wrapped in furs.

Captain Ljosia of the Eternal Guard saluted when he saw Melsheus.

‘We found her just sitting here,’ he explained lowering his head, ‘I have failed in my command of the perimeter guard. I allowed them to become lax.’

Melsheus waved away the contrition. The “perimeter guard” was two hungry, frost-bitten men dozing at the edges of the camp. A child could have snuck past them. A child had.

‘Where have you come from girl?’ demanded Melsheus, ‘where is your sister?’

‘Where is yours?’ answered the girl.

Melsheus’ patience evaporated. He walked up to the girl and bent down to speak to her in a harsh whisper.

‘I am not in the mood for riddles child. This is not a safe place to be. Tell me who you are and where your people are and I will do my best to return you to them whilst there is still time. I can do no better for you than that.’

‘I am Arahan, you are my people, and I have been waiting for you Melsheus. I bring you a gift.’

With that the child uncovered the bundle in her lap to reveal the bloody head of a warrior of Khorne, its cracked iron helmet still sitting over the ghastly face. The Wanderers surrounding them recoiled.

‘Where did you find that child?’ demanded Ljosia.

‘Where did I find it?’ Arahan asked loudly, looking at Melsheus.

‘Bind her.’ He ordered.

‘She is just a child.’ Said Captain Ljosia uncertainly.

‘She has the form of a child. The dark gods possess many strange servants who may take innocuous shapes. Do as I command you.’

 Captain Ljosia obediently reached out towards the wild infant, and in a blur of movement the child reached up and broke the captain’s arm. Melsheus drew his blade in an instant.

‘You miserable creature, you highest of fools.’ Arahan spat contemptuously, ‘I am no changeling, no follower of petty gods, dark or otherwise. I am more an Aelf than any of you cowards who whimper in the cold and bow and scrape to trees, I was Aelf before your world was even born and I remember everything you cowards have chosen to forget. I know the words Teclis whispered to Lileath as she died. I know who planted the Sky Oaks and why the Storm-men grow cold. I know where the Lord of Excess waits in chains. I know where the World Dragon sleeps.’

‘What do you want?’ Melsheus demanded, holding his blade level.

‘I want to help you, high-fool, leader of the broken. There is still time to save her, if you are enough of an Aelf for the task.’

‘Save whom?’

‘Handmaiden Eostre.’ The child said evenly, ‘she was caught by a Khorne scouting party on her way back to camp. She fought with all of the little strength that remained to her.  Tell me, did you know that she has been feeding her rations to her steed since you ran out of hay?’ Arahan laughed with something between bitterness and mirth, ‘I tore the Khornites limb from limb, but Eostre’s wounds were mortal. She is breathing her last as we speak.’

‘You lie!’ Melsheus exclaimed, ignoring the alarmed chatter that broke out at the mention of the blood god.

‘If you believe that then sit here and let her die. If you wish her to live then follow me.’

With that the child disappeared into the trees. Melsheus did not hesitate, the Waywatcher ran after her, cursing as he followed the flashes of her bone-white hair bounding through the undergrowth. Thorny briars whipped at his face and branches sought to snag at his limbs but Melsheus pushed on  though his chest protested and his legs felt like lead. Melsheus kept his keen eyes on the spritely figure ahead as he struggled to keep pace with her impossibly graceful movement through the thick trees. At last the child came to stop at the bank of a small stream and Melsheus spied Eostre’s mount Flidal lapping disconcertedly at the half-frozen water. The stream ran red. Arahan merely pointed upriver to where the broken figure of Eostre lay half-submerged on the muddy bank.

Stepping over the shattered corpses of Chaos warriors Melsheus rushed to her side and knelt down next to his wounded comrade. Her back was broken and her armour pierced in half a dozen places. Beneath a mask of bruises her eyes met Melsheus’. Her mouth opened and she struggled to force out words between split lips.

‘I’m...sorry...I hoped to be there at the end.’ Her voice was a rough, wet, whisper.

Melsheus lowered his head.

‘Will you save her Waywatcher?’ asked Arahan quietly, ‘will you do what is necessary?

‘How? How can she be saved?’ demanded Melsheus turning his gaze to the strange child.

‘How else?’ she smiled patting Flidal’s flank, ‘with blood.’

 

 

[Kirjava13]

???

By Sigmar, I'm more hooked on this than I am the last novel I read.

[Orsino]

Just finishing up my Sisters of the Watch:

Not entirely sure about the red war paint on the faces.

Have also started kitbashing eels with terradons to make mini-forest dragons.

[Orsino]

I think I may have gone a little over the top with my converted Spellweaver:

And some WIP terrain for the Apostate Wood:

 

 

 

[Rhivan]

These conversions are beautiful! How did you MAKE your witch?

[Orsino]

3 hours ago, Rhivan said:

These conversions are beautiful! How did you MAKE your witch?

Thanks, it's a lot of bits and green stuff, dark aelf sorceress head, arms from a heroclix glued to a random torso, branches from a citadel tree for the legs, and then a skull placed inside a hollowed out plastic bead for the head of the staff.

[Orsino]

Been a busy month with other stuff but finally got the chance to do some more work on my baby forest dragons:

[knightish]

This is amazing lore. Followed.

Great work on the models